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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26128747">Vacant</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/confitlemon/pseuds/confitlemon'>confitlemon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Vocaloid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Car Accidents, Character Death, F/M, M/M, Smoking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:46:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,363</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26128747</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/confitlemon/pseuds/confitlemon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Len's POV  |  For some reason, I keep my phone charged next to me at all times. Like maybe she’ll call me again, maybe say the doctors got it wrong. Maybe she’ll call and say this is just a joke because this must be some kind of fucking joke.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hatsune Mikuo/Kagamine Len, Kagamine Rin/Kaito</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. I Should Live In Salt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Len's POV</p><hr/><p> </p><p>It has been exactly six days and twelve hours since my sister died. Six days since it stormed. Six days since I last saw ‘Incoming Call: Rin K.’ I wish I would have answered, maybe things would have ended differently. In the past six days, twelve hours, I fade in and out of sleep but never longer than a couple of hours. For some reason, I keep my phone charged next to me at all times. Like maybe she’ll call me again, maybe say the doctors got it wrong. Maybe she’ll call and say this is just a joke because this must be some kind of fucking joke. Then we could laugh about how our parents had died in a car wreck when we were just teenagers and how it would be some kind of twisted whim of God that one of us, or both, died the same way years later. </p><p>Six days and I eventually lose count of the hours, but I’ve been spending all of my time inside. I don’t call into work or tell them what happened, but they found out somehow. For some reason they don’t fire me after disappearing for nearly a week. Instead, they send me a basket of bullshit to take my mind off of my dead sister. If she were here, she would probably tell me to send them a thank you letter. But she’s not, because she’s dead, so I don’t have to tell her my boss is a dickhead and I don’t care about the basket of bullshit. It looks like an expensive arrangement of fruits and some flowers stuffed in the middle. Am I supposed to say ‘Thank you, this made me less sad about my dead sister’ or something like that? Fuck you, boss, your basket sucks.</p><p>The time I waste between pretending to eat fruit and screaming into a pillow, I smoke at the kitchen table until my mouth is dry. Before Rin died, she was always getting onto me about smoking, yelling at me about how bad cigarettes are. She used to make the most pitiful face when I smoked in front of her, it would make me put my cigarette out every time. I eventually stopped smoking when she was around. When I strike my lighter and pull it near, I imagine her big blue eyes staring at me from across the table. I tell her to stop staring at me like that and light my cigarette. The feeling in my stomach, or maybe it’s my lungs, tells me to put it out but I don’t. I continue taking drags until it’s finished and rub the filter into the ashtray. </p><p>I feel sick. I want to puke. </p><p>Even in front of the toilet bowl now, I can’t make myself vomit. I mean, I <em> can</em>, but I don’t want to cram my fingers down my throat for relief. If I’m lucky, I could choke on my puke and die. I give up on the idea and pull myself up from the bathroom floor. The room spins for a moment and I grab the edge of the counter for support. As much as I want  to spew my guts, I know there’s not enough in my stomach to come up. It’s been a few days since I’ve showered and the way I look in the bathroom mirror reflects more than that. I look like shit, which makes sense since I feel like shit, too. I feel worse than shit. I feel like I’m dying, or like I've already died and now I'm just feeling the sensation of decay. The black rings beneath my eyes are deep, they look like crescent-shaped bruises. My eyes are still blue underneath the bloodshot vessels surrounding, but my gaze looks hollow. Empty. I can’t tell if I’m as pale as I usually am or if my skin looks gray. </p><p>Rin and I had the same features but I don’t see any of her face in mine, I just see a shitty version of myself. I look like I got hit by a car and never got up. I imagine Rin saying she looks like she <em>actually</em> got hit by a car. Before I can laugh to myself, I remember seeing Rin’s mauled corpse on the autopsy table, then I think about how she looked completely different in her casket. Even after the wreck crushed her body, after they stitched her back together, and then caked makeup onto her lifeless face, she still looked better then than I do right now. </p><p>Before I get a look at my dirty hair, I flinch at the sound of someone knocking at the front door.</p><p>I am painfully aware of the time, all the time, even when I <em>try</em> to forget what the day is. I still know it’s been six days since it rained last. Six days since I got a call from the hospital. Six days since —</p><p>The doorbell rings this time. </p><p>I consider not answering it and ignoring whoever it is, the same way I’ve been ignoring text messages and phone calls. Maybe it’s another bullshit basket delivery. Why don’t they ever include a bottle of booze or better snacks? I’m grieving, not counting calories. A second knock follows the doorbell, accompanied by a man’s voice. </p><p>“Answer the door, Len. I know you’re in there.”  </p><p>Ah, it's Kaito. I want to tell him to fuck off, but he might think I’m dead if I ignore him for too long, so I open the door. He’s always been overbearing and protective, maybe that’s why Rin liked him so much. She pined after him for so long, I never thought she would ever get around to telling him. Kaito’s so dense, he stayed oblivious to her crush until she finally confessed to him. That was a year ago, they’ve been dating ever since. Until her car hydroplaned into another vehicle, I mean. I guess that means they aren’t together anymore since he’s standing at my door with a box of her stuff. If she were here, she would be mortified. </p><p>Kaito looks terrible, but I don’t say it, I'm sure he's thinking the same about me. I haven’t talked to him since the funeral, I’ve been avoiding his calls. He looks down at the box and I can tell that he was crying on the way here. </p><p>“Is that hers?” I finally ask and I don’t know why I even bother when I know the answer. </p><p>“Yeah. I, uh... don’t feel like I should keep it. It’s just some stuff she left at my house... I wasn’t sure what to do with it...” He looks up at me, handing the box over, like he's pleading me to take the pain away. As if it were that easy. “You knew her best, so... maybe it belongs with you.” </p><p>I take the container of Rin’s belongings and it makes me angry for some reason. Okay, I’ll just put it in her abandoned room with the rest of her shit that she’ll never see again. I can smell her perfume on an article of clothing from the box and my stomach lurches. I want to tell him he should have burned all of her stuff and we both would have been better off. Rin would tell me he’s just trying to do the right thing. I would tell her to shut up. </p><p>“I’ll take care of it. Is that all?” </p><p>I surprise myself by how callous I sound. Maybe he wants to talk about her and say something like ‘gone too soon, but she’s in a better place,’ but I don’t want that. I don’t want to talk about how she’s dead now, as if I don't already know that living to twenty three is hardly a life at all. I don't want to memorialize my sister with him over a box of her things. Rin didn’t even believe in the afterlife. When our parents fatally wrecked, we didn’t believe that they went to a better place. We watched them get buried and listened to people say things about dead people that make the living feel better. </p><p>
  <em>‘They are still with us. In our hearts.’</em>
</p><p>Bullshit. </p><p>
  <em>‘They will always be watching over us, loving from a distance.’</em>
</p><p>More bullshit. </p><p>
  <em>'They aren’t hurting anymore. They are in a better place.’</em>
</p><p>Rin didn’t go to a better place, her body was cremated and now she’s sitting on my bookshelf in an overpriced urn.</p><p>She didn’t want to be buried like our parents. I only know this because she decided, at their funeral, that she didn’t want to be ‘stuck in the ground forever.’ Looking back on it now, that shouldn't have been something a teenager should have been thinking about. I honored her request anyway and now she gets to hang out in a vase until I decide where to scatter her ashes. </p><p>“Oh, this, too.” Kaito reaches down into his pocket and pulls out an old key, then places it inside the box. “It was in her coat when she.. had her accident.” </p><p>It was the key to our late parent’s summer home near the beach, just a couple hours away from where Rin and I live. Rather, where <em> I </em> live. I haven’t been to that old house in awhile, but she always insisted on going a few times a year. It's small, barely big enough for a family of four, but to her, it was perfect. She liked to remember our parents, keep their memory alive, even years later. It always made me sad, so I stopped going with her, but she still went at least every summer. It’s one of the few things that our parents left behind for us after passing. The money they left for us was spent laying them to rest and whatever remained, we spent to get a place together. Turns out it’s really expensive to bury two people at once and there’s no discount for both parents dying together. Honestly, I almost forgot about the key. I wonder if she was going to visit the beach the day she died. </p><p>“She always talked about bringing you back there, Len.” Kaito looks at me while crossing his arms, like he’s trying to hold himself together. I think I see him trying to crack a smile. He looks older, like he’s rapidly aged over the last few days. When Rin and I met him, we were only fourteen and he had just turned seventeen. Now he’s closer to thirty, but after burying his girlfriend, he looks much older than that. “Maybe you should go back.. For her, I mean. I think she would really like that...” With every word, he starts to tremble and I watch tears form under his eyes. </p><p>Until now, I hadn’t considered how he’d been taking Rin’s death. He’s known us both for so long, but his relationship with her was different.  He helped us out a lot after our parents died. We never had a big brother, but we always had Kaito around to keep us out of trouble. He didn’t have to take care of us, we never asked him to, he just wanted to. Just a lovable idiot that wanted to keep us safe, he only ever wanted to help. </p><p>Kaito even taught us both how to drive and never got upset with us. I always wondered how he could stay so patient. Like we had all the time in the world to learn, to make mistakes. Now I wonder if he thinks he’s failed Rin, even though the accident wasn't his fault — he wasn’t even in the car. I wonder if he knows how she talked about him, like she saw the sun in his eyes. But I don’t see any light in his eyes today, I just see pain. </p><p>“Yeah, maybe...”  It doesn’t sound convincing coming out of my mouth, probably because I don’t want to visit the place where all my dead family liked to spend their time. I never got why they loved the damned house so much.  “I’ll think about it.” </p><p>Kaito is right, though. I know it would make Rin happy if I did what he suggested. I can imagine her begging me one last time, then shake that vision from my head and tuck the box of Rin's belongings under my right arm. Maybe I could do it for her. Fuck you, Kaito, for being right all the time. I use my free hand to feel around my pockets for my cigarettes, but find nothing. Oh, right, they’re in the kitchen because I’ve been smoking inside like a pathetic shut-in. </p><p>“Just try, okay?” Kaito wipes the tears from his cheeks, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. I nod, but I don’t say anything because now I want to cry, too. Fuck you, Rin, for leaving me here alone and for making me plan your funeral without you. It sucked, by the way. I don’t try to stop the tears from welling up around my eyes as they begin to blur my vision. Fuck you for dying without me. We both know it should have been me instead. I feel Kaito reach out to put his hand on my shoulder, then I realize I’m shaking.</p><p>He pulls me in closer towards him, I don’t push away. I rest my head on his shoulder and silently weep. I feel sick again. None of this should even be happening. Despite me losing my shit on Kaito’s shoulder, I don’t lose grip on the box of my sister’s things. I hold it tighter. I close my eyes and imagine her standing with us, soothing Kaito and I. Then I imagine her telling me to cheer up and ruffling my hair, but when I open my eyes again she’s not there.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Remain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After I receive the box of her things, I don’t go through it. I don’t know if I can bring myself to sort through her stuff without pretending she could come back. Now I get why Kaito returned it all to me, so he wouldn’t have to do it himself. Despite him being the ‘older brother’ figure, he isn’t as emotionally mature as he looks. It’s not in his nature to be a hard ass, let alone serious. I can’t blame him for trying to heal without reopening the wound. After he drops off her stuff, I walk back towards the kitchen and pass by her bedroom. The door is open and I force myself to not look inside. She won’t be there sitting at her desk, or sleeping in her bed. I tell myself not to imagine her cleaning up, or making her bed. It doesn’t work. </p><p>I put the box down in the center of the kitchen table and stare at it, like it's going to say something. I almost wish it would. It’s too quiet. Before I sit down on my side of the table, I carefully push the box over to rest on Rin’s side of the table. When I slide into my seat and look at the box looking back at me, I realize how crazy I must look. I can practically hear her laughing at me from her spot on my bookshelf and I can’t help but laugh at me, too. Then I realize I <em> really </em> look delusional laughing to myself while sitting at the table with my dead sister’s stuff sitting in the spot my sister used to sit at.</p><p>I stop laughing. </p><p>It’s quiet again. </p><p>My chest feels heavy and I don’t feel like smoking, but I light a cigarette anyway. </p><p>The box and I stay like for another day, each hour passing more quickly than the last. I ignore more phone calls and the box quietly judges me for avoiding the people who are trying to reach out. I smoke more cigarettes and it taunts me for coughing my lungs out when I try to breathe. Even when I try to drink water, I can feel the box harassing me to take a shower, or even go outside. The final straw is when I fall asleep at the table for a few minutes, not long enough to rest, but it’s enough for me to jolt awake. Just in time for the box of Rin’s things to remind me that it is now the only thing I have left of her.</p><p>That’s not true, I want to say. But I know better than to speak to this cardboard demon. So I just look at it and glare with heavy eyes, which I struggle to keep open because I’m exhausted from silently fighting. It feels like I’m losing, either way. I swear it’s making fun of me, which is enough to make me stand up suddenly. It doesn’t say anything because it can’t, and I know that, but it still manages to remind me I’m alone. If Rin were here, what would she say? </p><p>Nothing, the box says, and she’s not coming back.</p><p>I move sharply and without thinking, grabbing the box tightly, only to hurl it across the kitchen. It soars briefly,  colliding against the wall, then to the ground before falling on its side and spilling its guts on the floor. My chest is heaving and wheezing as I look at the things strewn about the room. I’m not crying, but I feel choked up like I might explode. Rin’s jacket landed near the refrigerator. A couple hair clips made it to the corner of the kitchen, next to some other things of hers. I recognize one of her hair bows and some other cosmetic items. Not too far from the container, I can see the key from yesterday. I feel guilty for throwing Rin’s things on the floor now, but I think she would understand if she were here. </p><p>Maybe she wouldn’t.</p><p>I wonder if she ever got mad that I stopped visiting our parent’s house, leaving her to do it alone. I wonder what our parents would say to me if I told them I didn’t answer the last call I ever got from her. I wonder what they would say if I told them Rin and I got into an argument the day she crashed. I wonder if she felt alone as she was bleeding out, dying. I wonder if she will ever forgive me for not being with her in her final hour. I wonder if she can see me now, if my parents can see me, too. I wonder why I’m the only one left to figure it out. I wonder why the air of the house suddenly feels so stiff, like it wants to suffocate me. I wish it would.</p><p>It’s still too quiet.</p><p>I pick up the key, reluctantly, and hold it between my fingers while studying the grooves. It looks worn out and old, but I know how much it meant to my sister. It’s all <em> we </em> had, now it’s all <em> I </em> have to memorialize my family. I look at the other things on the floor, then the rest of the kitchen I have neglected in the last week. It’s beyond disgusting. Turning around, I look at the table, which is void of everything but an ashtray stuffed to the edge with used cigarette filters. How long have I been sitting in the dark today? Why is the silence so deafening today? Nausea creeps back into my abdomen.</p><p>I suddenly become very aware of one thing: If I stay here any longer, I will rot away and it <em> scares </em> me.</p><p>The key goes into my pocket, I leave the kitchen and make my way to my bedroom. I act quickly, grabbing a backpack and stuffing a handful of clothes into it. I find a couple half-empty packs of cigarettes and toss them in my bag. Wallet, in the bag. Cellphone, somewhere, it doesn’t matter. Before I turn to exit my room, I stop in front of my bookshelf. I look at the urn waiting patiently and don’t think twice before shoving it into my backpack.  </p><p>Before I can get to the front door, I pass by Rin’s bedroom again. Unable to stop myself again, I stare inside while ignoring the violent churning within my stomach. The silence continues to haunt me for another moment as I feel my shoulders rattling. She would be so upset with me for entering her room without permission, bothering her space for no reason other than to miss her. She would understand, wouldn’t she? </p><p>“Hey, I’m leaving for a bit,” I speak as if she can still hear me, knowing very well I won’t get a response. “I don’t know when I’ll be back, but… ” Much to my surprise, I still have tears left to shed while I speak. I choke back a sob and feel the weight of my sadness bare down on my shoulders, a familiar feeling of anguish. </p><p>Little dust particles float through the stillness of the room, stirring around as I shuffle to wipe my tears away. Rin would hate it if I left without saying goodbye, so this was the least I could do, right? Then again, I could have answered her last phone call when I had the chance, but I didn’t. I could have easily gone with her that day, instead of upsetting her before she left. I don’t even know what I said to make her leave in such a hurry, but now it doesn’t make a difference. </p><p>“I’ll see you later, Rin.” I finally push my way out of the house before I let myself get stuck again. I want to suffocate in the smoke, I want the house to swallow me whole. Would it be easier that way, if every trace of our existence suddenly disappeared? No more evidence that we were here, no more boxes of things, no more empty rooms.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Push</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>content warning, suicidal thoughts</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>It takes me longer than necessary to get to the house. Not because I forgot how to get there, or because I need to make a few stops before taking off. I should let my boss know I’m not returning, maybe tell Kaito that I’ll be away indefinitely. But I’m in the car already, taking too long because I don’t know how to </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> veer my car off a bridge right now. My hands fuse to the steering wheel, gripping with too much force. As if it were my last tie to this earth, the only thing keeping me here. As if it would take me far away from whatever I was feeling, whatever I would feel later, whatever I wanted to avoid feeling, if I just let go at the right moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What should have been just a couple hours of driving eventually turns into a lifetime of taking my time to cross the last bridge before nearing my destination. That means I still have time. Just enough time to decide I’m not strong enough to do this anymore, or just enough time to talk myself out of killing myself. Both of these thoughts happen in tandem, an unfair game of tug-of-war in which both sides are evenly matched. Better this than talking to the dust in my house, right? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m still driving to the one place I know Rin longed to be most, to make myself feel better, I guess. If she were here, she should joke about doing whatever it takes to get me to visit the house with her. And now, look, she’s gone and done it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The late rays of sunset push against my skin, as if it were reminding me </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re still alive, that is enough</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It feels cathartic and I accept the warmth, instead of pulling the sun visor down to hide from its reach. It didn’t feel like enough though, that I’m alive to feel the sun on my face after hiding away from it for so long. My hands are still tight at the steering wheel, at ‘ten and two’ because I want to </span>
  <em>
    <span>be </span>
  </em>
  <span>safe while my eyes frequently shift to the ledge of the bridge on my right, because I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> safe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If I can make it there, then I’ll be safe. If I make it to her happy place, it will be enough to make me feel better because it </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be enough. The idea of getting there and dying is simply not an option, it’s not something I could do to her. Or the unlucky ones who would eventually find me there, finally rotting away, finally getting what I want. What I need, maybe. At this point, I don’t know what I </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but I know I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to sleep soon. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to crawl out of my skin. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to drive forever in the sunset. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to get out of this fucking car. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, I do most of those things. There is more driving, there is more sunset, but not nearly enough. There is shuddering, still wanting to pull myself from my skin, but never sure how to do that while driving because I’ve given up killing myself at this point. The bridge is in the past, I eventually get over the idea. There is the fast approaching smell of the ocean, then there is the house, but there is no more sun. There, finally, is the couch, because I can’t put myself in another bedroom. Not yet. Maybe tomorrow. Lastly, there is sleep.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Instead of pleasant dreams, I am flooded with nightmares. Visions of drowning in an ocean, little glimpses of getting into a car, and of course, twisted versions of Rin. Lots of rainfall with no end in sight, climbing into familiar cars with my twin in the passenger seat. Each sequence, she looks apprehensive but smiles anyway, saying nothing. More flashes of rain. In these dream states, Rin only asks where we’re headed. I don’t remember if I gave her a proper answer, I just drove. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Where are we going?</span>
  </em>
  <span>  I don’t know where I was driving. Another nervous smile. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Where are we going? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The rain falls even harder and it eventually drowns out </span>
  <em>
    <span>where are we going? </span>
  </em>
  <span>and soon becomes deafening. All I hear is pounding against the windshield, which becomes indiscernible as rain. Rin is frightened, mouthing the question I cannot answer. It scares me, too. I lose control of the car, unable to focus on anything other than the sound of thudding. Rainfall, swerving car, Rin screaming, the forceful pounding. Oddly enough, her yelling becomes out of place. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Hello? Are you in there?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The rain never ceases, nor does its intrusive banging. I only see the blur of scenery behind the windshield and Rin yelling again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Hello? Is anyone here?”</span>
  </em>
  <span>  I’m about to crash.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With enough force to give myself whiplash, I jerk awake with dry gasp and force myself upright. My body practically groans in protest with each movement. I know it was just a dream but it really does feel as though I was in a car accident. I feel like shit still. A familiar thudding noise narrows my disoriented vision. Someone’s at the door. The universe must be set on keeping me from being alone. The voice isn’t one I recognize right away, but I open the door anyway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A brilliant flash of turquoise hair moves before me and it’s all I have time to see before I’m suddenly being pressed against someone’s chest. Not quite a hug, considering my arms are stuck in place by my side, unsure of what to do with them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank god you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>alright</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Len.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I wouldn’t have described myself as alright or even okay, but to my visitor, we clearly have different definitions of the word. Between the sleep still dissipating from my eyes and my unexpected guest charging at me with a hug, I don’t know who the hell this is until a minute later. I awkwardly pat the man’s back and shrug away from him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good to see you, Mikuo.” I say this as sincerely as I can manage, which is unconvincing. I want to mean it, but I haven’t seen  him in awhile and I don’t even know why he’s here. After pulling away from his grip, I rub my eyes and blink at him. How do I kindly say thanks for stopping by, but I’m grieving, leave me alone?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” Then why did you bang on my door? Much like my own half-assed pleasantries, I knew the response was only half true. But I still don’t know what is happening and he’s just looking at me like I’ve just slapped him. I probably look like a monster, or a zombie. I didn’t say anything but instead offered a shrug.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just saw your car outside this morning. I just... wanted to make sure you’re alright.” Mikuo looks at the ground, hand lifting to the back of his neck. “I heard about Rin…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There it was. Not only my daily reminder of my sister but with that, Mikuo’s ability to reveal his every  thought with his expression alone. He looks like a kicked puppy, but I probably look much worse. He has always been this way, very honest and never hesitating to reveal himself, or his feelings. Unafraid of those feelings and never afraid of what that made others feel in response. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We chat for a little longer, I tell him what happened and why I’m here. He says he understands, but I don’t think he really does. Eventually I get around to asking </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’s here and why </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Something about taking a break from work, but doesn’t say what he does. He explains that he’s staying in the rental next door, which is just another little house settled on the beach front that isn’t far from my own. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mikuo talks a lot and it irritates me at first, because I look and feel like shit, but I don’t think I want to be alone yet.  I don’t tell him that. He excuses himself soon enough and leaves after we insist we exchange phone numbers, in case I ‘need anything.’ I know it was a kind gesture but it still felt embarrassing. I don’t plan on needing anything from him. No offense to Mikuo. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After he leaves, I sit back on the couch and think about going back to sleep. I think of my recent nightmare and decide otherwise, so I just sit there. It’s kind of peaceful, I realize, to hear the distant waves wash upon the shore. It’s quiet, but not the kind of silence I felt from the kitchen back at home. There’s no smoke in the air to choke me, but my lungs still rasp and I still cough. I’m determined to not make this place smell like an ashtray. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glancing around the living room, all I see is Rin. Not actually her, but in all of the details of the house. The decorations are nothing short of her style, or lack of style. Down to the hideous shade of orange she painted the walls. Outdated curtains that don’t match and rest of the house. Fake flowers stuffed into empty wine bottles. On the walls, photographs without frames. Some of us, some old ones of our parents, a few of her and Kaito. The photos that were out of focus were clearly ones that she had taken and hung up anyway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My throat seizes and I will myself to not cry. At the same time that I miss her, I’m angry with her, or maybe I’m just angry with myself. I want to be mad at her for making me do this alone, but I know the truth is that it’s my own fault for not coming here sooner with her. I just wish she could be here, so I could at least tell her her photos are ridiculous. Or that she shouldn’t have painted the walls orange. I could have picked better curtains. If she were here, I would laugh at her.  The whole interior is absurd, in every way, but every detail is undeniably </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rin</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ive been sitting on this story for about a year, pls enjoy. this is my first time writing character death, so this has been a very fun challenge for me. more to come, eventually !!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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